


Magical

by Edensnake



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A Nightingale Sings in Berkeley Square (Good Omens), Angst, Armageddon, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Cake, Conversations, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Watches Aziraphale Eat (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Drinking, Eating, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Foot Massage, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, Holding Hands, Humor, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Scents & Smells, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Burn, Snogging, The Arrangement (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edensnake/pseuds/Edensnake
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale were alive, and they didn’t have to fight in a war, or find a misplaced Antichrist, or save the world. Instead they were dining together and enjoying one another’s company, drinking champagne and listening to “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” being played beautifully on the piano at the Ritz. Life was actually very good for both of them, at least right now, in this particular moment.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 170
Collections: Week 10: Did you say CAKE?!





	1. Side by Side

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever fanfic. Comments appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale felt like, right now, the two of them could take on all the forces of Heaven and Hell combined, as long as they were side by side.

There were few activities Crowley really genuinely loved. Driving the Bentley was one. Hanging out with the angel. Drinking. Sleeping. And in particular, although he didn’t much care for food himself, Crowley really loved watching Aziraphale eat. In fact, over the course of his extensive time on earth, it had become the demon’s favorite form of entertainment. 

The angel and demon had been chatting away amiably during their long, leisurely lunch at the Ritz following the almost-end-of-the-world and their failed executions. Well, mostly it was Aziraphale chatting, and eating, with Crowley watching intently, nodding, sipping champagne and commenting occasionally. They compared notes and laughed about their respective experiences above and below, when they had inhabited each other’s bodies briefly, successfully thwarting the worst intentions of both Heaven and Hell. 

“I didn’t really understand what an arsehole you work for until I met the Arch-Arsehole Fucking Gabriel himself, in the flesh,” said Crowley. “You have my deepest sympathies.” 

“Well, yes, thank you, but I don’t work for him anymore,” said Aziraphale. I’m starting to see now that my side, my _former_ side rather, is just as bad as yours, in a way. Possibly worse, even.” 

Crowley nodded emphatically at this revelation. “Uh, _yeah!_ ” he said. “Glad you finally caught on about that, angel. Your lot do smell better than mine, though.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’m realizing you’re correct when you say we’re on our own side now. I can’t in good conscience keep working for Heaven after what they tried to do to you. I mean me. Not to mention what Hell tried to do to me. I mean you. And God won’t even take my calls anymore. Do you think maybe our Head Offices will at least leave us alone for a little while?”

“Probably not for very long,” said Crowley. “They still have a war to win.”

They sipped their champagne in silence for a few minutes. The sense of relief they both felt at having evaded permanent discorporation was tempered by the certain knowledge that Heaven and Hell were very likely still out to get them, and probably sooner rather than later, once their respective sides figured out that they’d switched bodies to avoid being obliterated. But in the meantime, they were alive, and they didn’t have to fight in a war, or find a misplaced Antichrist, or save the world. Instead they were dining together and enjoying one another’s company, drinking champagne and listening to “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” being played beautifully on the piano at the Ritz. Life was actually very good for both of them, at least right now, in this particular moment. 

Crowley watched with keen interest as the angel took the first bite of his dessert, a generous slice of angel cake topped with fresh ripe strawberries and whipped cream. A sweet smile adorned Aziraphale’s face as he closed his eyes and sighed. “Absolutely _divine!_ ” he exclaimed. Crowley leaned forward, elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand. Behind his dark glasses, he focused his intense demonic stare on the pink tip of the angel’s tongue as it savored another delicate morsel. Aziraphale sucked the bit of cake into his soft, wet, perfectly angelic mouth, all while gazing directly at the demon. Crowley was absolutely, hopelessly, deliriously transfixed. Could it be that the angel was actually putting on a show for him? How could he possibly not know the effect he was having? Normal people don’t eat like this. Crowley was an expert at temptation, but Aziraphale made the demon feel like he was the one being tempted. Very effectively. Maybe _too_ effectively, but Crowley was having too much of a good time to want it to stop. He had to be careful not to let on to the angel just how much he was enjoying this. 

“And, Crowley…” the angel’s voice trailed off as he took a generous gulp of champagne. 

Crowley reluctantly tore his gaze away from Aziraphale’s lips to meet his sparkling, enchanting blue eyes. “Yes?” 

“I want you to know that I didn’t mean those terrible things I said to you. At the bandstand. And at the airbase when I threatened to never speak to you again. I’m truly sorry.”

“Oh, yeah?” Crowley muttered into his glass. His heart felt like it skipped a beat. 

“I thought I could somehow convince Heaven to call off the war. I know. Stupid of me. I was frustrated. And angry. And scared of what Heaven and Hell would do to both of us. But I didn’t mean to lash out at you. And at the airbase, I was just so desperate for you to do something, and I thought maybe I could provide some extra motivation for you. But you most certainly _are_ my friend and I _do_ like you.” 

Aziraphale paused, and looked directly at Crowley, _into_ him, as though he could see right through the dark glasses, into the demon’s reptilian yellow eyes and through them to the very depths of his soul, if he had one. No one else but Aziraphale had ever looked at Crowley like that in all his many long centuries of existence. And then the angel did that wonderful, beautiful, marvelous thing where he looked down shyly, and fluttered his sweet, blonde, delicate, angelic eyelashes, and then looked directly at Crowley again. Then Aziraphale added, softly, “Very much, in fact.”

And in that moment, a little bit of Crowley’s very well-armored and well-concealed and well-protected demonic heart felt like it melted into an absolute puddle of goo. 

“I’m sorry too, angel. For calling you stupid. I didn’t mean it. You’re smarter than anyone I know. I just wanted you to give up on trying to convince Heaven of anything, because I knew it wasn’t going to work,” said Crowley. “And I’m sorry for saying I wouldn’t think of you after I went off to Alpha Centauri. Alpha Centauri wouldn’t have been any fun anyway. And I like you too. A lot,” he added. 

“You were right about Heaven,” said Aziraphale. “And, thank you.” Aziraphale smiled that sweet smile of his again at Crowley. His beautiful blue eyes shone. 

“Glad we got _that_ sorted,” said Crowley with a wink and a crooked smile. “Cheers.” He raised his glass. “Cheers,” replied Aziraphale, raising his. They clinked their glasses together and then drained them, and Crowley refilled both with the last of the champagne that remained in the bottle. 

The demon leaned back, breathed a sigh and closed his eyes, a rare expression of contentment on his face. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of the champagne, and the scent of Aziraphale’s dessert, and the scent of Aziraphale’s silly new cologne (suggested by his barber), which the demon had almost gotten used to during their switch when he’d had to wear it. But mostly, he savored the delectable, delicious scent of the angel himself. Crowley wondered if Aziraphale was even aware of just how wonderful it was. It was an aroma all his own, distinctly different from that of any other angel, and it overpowered all the other scents in the room. Crowley would know it anywhere, and had, many times over the millennia. It was part of what helped him find the angel when Crowley sensed he was in some sort of trouble, which Aziraphale seemed to have an uncanny knack for getting himself into, especially when a certain demon was in the vicinity. 

Crowley had even adopted the angel’s scent for himself as part of the switch, to make the charade more convincing, since both demons and angels have excellent senses of smell. It has taken them a little while to figure out how to do this – it wasn’t as simple as just swapping bodies. Their scents were part of their supernatural essences. To accomplish the goal, each ended up having to mask his own scent while miracling the other’s during the switch, while also continuing to convincingly mimic each other’s way of speaking, body language and so on. It took a lot of energy and concentration on both their parts, but they had succeeded. In spite of the stress involved, and the high stakes, Crowley had greatly enjoyed his short time in Aziraphale’s body, infused with that delightful smell.

To Crowley, the angel’s scent was a potent and tantalizing mix of sweetness and spice, like a glob of sticky, golden honey with a dusting of hot cayenne pepper on top. Or something. Demons weren’t good at metaphors. Crowley just knew that he found Aziraphale’s unique angelic scent powerfully alluring. It seemed to grab him and draw him forcefully and inexorably toward the angel in a way that he could hardly resist if he tried, which he didn’t. 

Crowley opened his eyes. The angel was looking at him while licking a little dab of whipped cream off his upper lip. Oh God and Satan, did Crowley want to lick it off for him. And then slowly and tenderly spend all night licking every other part of Aziraphale, tasting him, devouring him, reveling in his irresistibly enticing aroma and exploring his every nook and cranny. A tingle ran through him just thinking about it, and he squirmed in his seat, trying in earnest to betray no outward sign of these very intriguing thoughts. They seemed to occur with greater frequency in recent days, as he and the angel had been spending a lot more time together. Aziraphale would probably be appalled if he knew what Crowley was imagining. 

“It’s fucking hot in here,” Crowley mumbled, removing his jacket, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt and fanning himself with the Ritz’s wine list. Demons have a great ability to tolerate heat, but the warmth Crowley was experiencing was not the ordinary kind.

“I saved the last bite for you,” Aziraphale said sweetly, extending his fork towards Crowley with a bit of cake, a plump strawberry and a little dollop of whipped cream on it. Crowley, meanwhile, was imagining an entirely different kind of bite. He wasn’t much for food, and almost declined the offer out of habit, but the angel’s slightly raised eyebrows and his expectant expression convinced him otherwise. Fuck it, why not? he thought. Make the angel happy. And anyway, it gave Crowley a chance to try out a new role. He was hungry, yes, intensely so, but not for the cake. He slowly and deliberately removed his glasses and set them on the table. Aziraphale’s bright eyes seemed almost to dance with mischief. He has a bit of demon in him, Crowley thought. 

As Aziraphale brought the fork close to Crowley’s waiting lips, the demon locked eyes with the angel and held his gaze intently, without blinking. He opened his mouth obediently, and let the angel gently feed him, while still holding his gaze. His demonic tongue swirled around the strawberry wickedly as he took it into his mouth. Crowley could do some truly amazing things with his tongue. The angel’s scent lingered on the fork, making the dessert taste even better. Crowley swallowed and licked his lips decadently, never breaking eye contact. Aziraphale didn’t look away, or even blush, he just smiled radiantly. 

“Excellent, thank you,” Crowley remarked, trying desperately to sound suave and casual. Whether due to the champagne, or the palpable feeling of relief after the stressful events of the last few days, or just the fact of being in the angel’s presence, or smelling his deliciousness, or some combination of it all, Crowley felt lightheaded, almost giddy. On some level, the angel must have picked up on this, for he paused and glanced again at the demon intently for just a moment, perhaps with an unspoken question on his face.

“Uh, done? Ready to go? What’s next?” asked Crowley, hoping to divert the angel’s attention and avoid any awkwardness. He greatly enjoyed his feelings for Aziraphale, and his sexy little fantasies, but he had to keep them to himself. They were far too embarrassing to be admitted. A demon from the depths of Hell who swoons like a schoolgirl and gets all hot and bothered in the presence of a certain incredibly adorable (and sensuous) angel? Utterly ridiculous, and also not at all in keeping with the carefully cultivated demeanor of coolness and aloofness that Crowley tried always to project. 

“How about we continue the celebration with drinks back at my bookshop? We can walk through Berkeley Square on the way, and watch the sunset as we go. It should be a beautiful evening for a stroll.”

“After you,” replied Crowley, donning his glasses, tossing back the last of his champagne, grabbing his jacket and rising to follow the angel. With a snap of his fingers, he took care of the check as they departed. 

The pair stepped out of the Ritz and onto the pavement. It was indeed a beautiful late summer evening. They headed toward Berkeley Square, walking side by side, the angel striding slightly closer to Crowley than usual, the demon sauntering along with his hands wedged into the pockets of his tight-fitting black jeans. 

Aziraphale beamed inwardly as he thought about feeding Crowley the bite of cake. The demon seemed to enjoy it as much as Aziraphale did, which was reassuring. And intriguing. It was a game they had played a number of times before, but previously always in a one-sided way, with Aziraphale doing the eating and Crowley doing the watching. Aziraphale greatly enjoyed creating these little performances for his audience of one, attracting the demon’s riveting gaze, making him wiggle involuntarily. His demonstrative appreciation of food seemed to have a mesmerizing effect on Crowley, and he delighted in seeing the demon coming so thoroughly unraveled while trying quite charmingly but unsuccessfully to maintain his composure. In fact, he secretly longed to see much more of that unraveling. But this time, it was the demon who had unraveled the angel. Looking into his golden eyes and watching him shamelessly lick, suck and then devour the luscious strawberry had Aziraphale thinking some most unheavenly thoughts. 

He signed deeply and sidled up a little closer to Crowley. The demon’s angular elbow stuck out invitingly. On impulse, and before he could talk himself out of it, Aziraphale hooked his arm in the crook of Crowley’s. Crowley glanced at the angel and arched one eyebrow, but didn’t flinch or withdraw. It felt good to hold onto him. _Really_ good. It felt _right,_ somehow. Possibly more right than anything Aziraphale had ever felt. He didn’t even care about the strange looks they got from some of the humans as they walked together. Aziraphale felt like, right now, the two of them could take on all the forces of Heaven and Hell combined, as long as they were side by side. 

He wanted to tell Crowley how nice it felt to walk that way with him, arm in arm, but such a confession would probably just inspire the demon to forcefully push him up against the nearest vertical surface. Which, upon further reflection, Aziraphale thought would probably be quite enjoyable, though perhaps not appropriate on a crowded public street in the light of day. It always gave him a thrill when the demon did that sort of thing, which he’d done several times over the years, typically in response to some heartfelt and sincere compliment or expression of appreciation from the angel. It wasn’t frightening at all; Aziraphale actually relished it, so much so that he sometimes instigated it deliberately by making the kinds of comments that he had found were sure to elicit the desired reaction from Crowley. He wondered what the demon was really feeling in those moments. It seemed not to be genuine anger or annoyance. It seemed much more like he was playing with the angel, toying with him, teasing him. Perhaps daring him to go further. He’d noticed that Crowley didn’t engage in this behavior with anyone else. Only with Aziraphale. He wondered briefly what might have happened had Sister Mary Loquacious not so inconveniently interrupted them in the hallway of the former Satanic convent in Tadfield. Probably best not to speculate. 

Walking alongside the demon, holding his arm, Aziraphale breathed deeply, inhaling Crowley’s distinctively demonic scent. It was a heady cocktail of muskiness and smoke, both earthy and inviting. It has become intimately familiar to the angel, especially in recent days. Aziraphale liked the way the demon’s signature aroma lingered in his flat, and in the Bentley, and on the worn antique sofa where he liked to lounge in the back room of the bookshop. To Aziraphale, Crowley’s unique smell felt something like a well lived-in home. Comforting, safe, cozy and reassuring. And wonderful. It had been a real treat for the angel to wear Crowley’s scent for a little while when he played the part of the demon during the switch. 

When the angel Sandalphon had remarked a few days ago that something smelled “evil” in the bookshop, it was all Aziraphale could do to keep himself from slapping him. Or discorporating the bloody bastard limb from limb on the spot, for that matter. Crowley was a lot of things, but at his core, Aziraphale believed, he was anything but evil. Deep down, he actually had a very kind and generous heart. Though he generally didn’t let anyone know it. But the angel knew. 

They arrived at Berkeley Square just as the sun was setting, rendering the sky a panorama of oranges, pinks and purples. “Let’s sit for a bit, it’s such a beautiful evening,” suggested Crowley. The demon affected his usual sprawl on the nearest bench, long legs stretched out in front of him, one arm resting lightly on the back of the bench. He beckoned the angel to join him. Aziraphale noticed that Crowley sat more towards the center of the bench than he usually did. The angel followed his lead, settling in next to Crowley a bit closer than normal. Close enough that Crowley’s outstretched arm was just inches from Aziraphale’s shoulders. 

Suddenly, a bird alighted on the armrest at the angel’s end of the bench. It was a nightingale, and it began to trill. “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square!” exclaimed Aziraphale. “What?” said Crowley. “The song being played on the piano at the Ritz. It was ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.’ And here we are, in Berkeley Square, and a nightingale is singing to us! How lovely!” the angel remarked with glee. “Luck of the Devil,” the demon replied. And in that instant, his arm slipped seemingly of its own accord from the back of the bench and settled gently around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale turned and looked at Crowley. “ _Your_ doing?” he asked incredulously. “Well, yes, just a little minor demonic miracle,” Crowley admitted sheepishly. “The bird was already here in the park, I just got it to sing for us, that’s all. I thought you might find it amusing.” “Oh Crowley, it’s _magical!_ ” exclaimed the angel. _“You are,”_ whispered Crowley, very softly, before he even realized what he was saying.

And with that, he leaned a little closer to the angel, and the angel responded, leaning closer to him. Golden demonic eyes met angelic blue ones. And then, very slowly, tentatively, but completely naturally and effortlessly, they kissed. It was entirely mutual: both of them wanted it, more than anything. It was sweet and warm and tender, just their lips touching ever so gently, and it didn’t last a long time, but to Aziraphale, it was absolutely, perfectly divine. In fact, it was just what he’d been imagining all these many, many long years, since that day atop the wall of the Garden of Eden when they first met, and he sheltered the demon from the rain with his wing. He’d wanted to kiss him even then, and many times since, but he’d never dared to believe it would actually happen. He thought Heaven, or Hell, or both, would not allow it. But it did happen, and no lightning bolt from above or blast of Hellfire from below had struck them down for partaking, at least not yet. 

Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. The demon smiled. “So, uh, now what?” Crowley asked. “How do we navigate this?” “We’ll have to just figure it out as we go along, I suppose,” Aziraphale replied. Crowley seemed content with that response.

The nightingale concluded its song and fluttered away. The glowing orange sun dipped low, and the first bright stars began to appear in the darkening sky. “Let’s go back to my place,” said Aziraphale, with a degree of urgency. He was feeling somewhat flushed. Crowley rose, tenderness filling his eyes as he looked at the angel, all his painstakingly constructed pretense of cool aloofness now stripped away. He offered his hand, and Aziraphale took it. 

And the demon and the angel walked hand in hand all the rest of the way to the bookshop, feeling like the world was new.


	2. Cheeky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’ve both already done more than enough to deserve the ultimate punishment, in the eyes of Heaven and Hell,” said Crowley. “Therefore,” he paused, raising an eyebrow, “what we do from here on out can’t possibly make things any worse, so we might as well enjoy ourselves.”

It was dark outside by the time they arrived back at the bookshop. Aziraphale turned the key in the lock and opened the door, holding it for Crowley. They both stepped inside, and with a wave of his hand, the angel turned on the lights, relocked the door and drew the shades. The WE’RE CLOSED sign showed in the window. Outside, Soho bustled with traffic. Pedestrians strolled by and cars cruised the streets on either side of the bookshop.  


Aziraphale hadn’t been back to the bookshop since the fire. He and Crowley had spent the evening after the would-be end of the world at the demon’s flat, staying up all night concocting their plan to switch bodies, and practicing each other’s mannerisms to make the deception convincing. “You were right – not a smudge, not a book burned,” remarked the angel as he surveyed the shop’s contents. “Hard to believe the whole place went up in flames. Hmm, _those_ are new,” he observed, noticing a shelf full of first edition children’s and young adult fictional works that hadn’t been there previously.  


“I think the Antichrist thought your inventory needed updating,” said Crowley. He drew a finger along a book atop one of the many haphazard stacks in the room. “He’s thorough. Even the dust has been restored to its former glory,” he observed, stirring up a small cloud of it with his fingertip. “So, how about that drink?”  


“I have a lovely bottle of scotch that I think will be perfect for the occasion,” said Aziraphale. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”  


Crowley settled in on the antique sofa in the angel’s back room, resting his head on a pillow and propping his feet up on the armrest at the other end of the sofa. It felt really good to be back in the familiar, cluttered, cozy setting of the bookshop.  


Crowley breathed a contented sigh. Everything would be different from now on, he realized. With his affection for the angel now out in the open, and with Aziraphale starting to reciprocate, Crowley felt like the world was full of possibilities. Amazing how things could change so quickly, in just a few short hours.  


He snapped his fingers, kindling a crackling fire in the bookshop’s small brick fireplace. Ambiance is important, after all. Having that nightingale sing to them in Berkeley Square was a stroke of demonic genius, Crowley thought, smiling inwardly, pleased with himself for thinking of it.  


Aziraphale’s ornate antique rotary-dial phone rang shrilly, disturbing the tranquil atmosphere. The angel was back in the galley kitchen area. Crowley could hear ice cubes tumbling into glasses. The phone rang again.  


“Are you going to get that?” Crowley called to the angel.  


Aziraphale reappeared with two glasses of ice and a bottle of scotch. He placed them on the table in front of Crowley and moved to the desk, picking up the telephone’s receiver. “I believe we’re _quite_ closed,” he said curtly, hanging up before the caller had a chance to say anything, and smiling with satisfaction at Crowley as he did so.  


Crowley laughed. “I’ve never seen you dispose of a phone call so fast,” he remarked. “No wonder you don’t sell many books. Your customer service is appalling.”  


"Well, I don't have one of those fancy telephone answering machines like you do,” the angel responded, feigning annoyance.  


“You do realize that my answering machine is completely obsolete? I think I acquired it in the mid-‘80s or so. It’s practically an antique,” Crowley replied.  


“Why do you still have it, then?” asked Aziraphale.  


“Never got around to ditching my land line,” the demon replied. “And anyway, it proved useful in delaying that bastard Hastur, at least for a bit.” He poured them each a drink, handing a glass to Aziraphale. “You really need to get a mobile phone, angel. It would make it so much easier for us to keep in touch.”  


“I’m still getting used to last century’s technology,” the angel replied.  


“Yes, I can tell,” said Crowley, glancing aside at Aziraphale’s ancient desktop computer, a dust-covered IBM 386 with a floppy disk drive. A tiny spider was spinning a web in one corner of the screen.  


“May I join you?” asked Aziraphale. Crowley scrunched up his legs on the sofa to make room for the angel. That’s encouraging, he thought. The angel usually sat in the chair opposite the sofa.  


“Here’s to _our_ side,” said Aziraphale, raising his glass. “To _our_ side,” Crowley replied, clinking his glass with the angel’s. They both drank deeply.  


Aziraphale patted his lap. “Please, stretch your legs out again. You must be exhausted. You haven’t slept in days. I know how you like your sleep. Here, put your feet in my lap,” he said. Crowley happily obliged. Aziraphale set his glass on the table. He looked at the demon with a questioning expression on his face, his hand poised over one of Crowley’s shoelaces. The demon nodded almost imperceptibly, and Aziraphale gave the lace a tug, then the other lace, and then slowly slipped first one shoe and then the other off Crowley’s feet, setting them carefully on the floor under the table. His hand strayed up one leg of Crowley’s trousers, a finger slipping lazily into the top of the demon’s sock. The angel idly ran his finger around the inside of the top of the sock, then pulled the sock down to Crowley’s ankle, but not all the way off. Then he did the same with the other sock, running a finger lightly down Crowley’s shin. The demon started to feel a primal urge stirring deep within. He removed his sunglasses and set them on the table. He’d noticed that the angel seemed to like it when he wasn’t wearing them.  


Aziraphale was looking at him with a serious expression. He took another sip of scotch. “Crowley, dearest, may I ask you a personal question?” he said, looking at the demon intently with those amazingly lovely blue eyes of his.  


“Yes?” said Crowley, sipping his drink and gazing fondly at the angel. He called me _dearest,_ Crowley noted to himself. The demon had never been called anyone’s _dearest_ before.  


“Why did you… that is, uh, what happened, I mean…” Aziraphale stammered incoherently.  


“Out with it, angel, what’s on your mind?” said Crowley, reaching his arm out to touch Aziraphale’s hair, running his hand through the beautiful blonde curls.  


“Um, why did you fall, exactly? I mean, why were you made a demon?” Aziraphale finally blurted out. He looked embarrassed for asking.  


“I asked too many questions,” the demon replied.  


“What kinds of questions?”  


“Uh, you know, why does God work in mysterious ways? Why not work in obvious ways? Why play hide-and-seek? Why not just show your face? And why the need for all that praising and worshipping? What’s _that_ about? Seems a tad emotionally insecure for an all-powerful deity, I mean. Stuff like that,” the demon muttered.  


“Cheeky,” observed the angel. He stuck a finger into one of Crowley’s socks and pulled it the rest of the way off, then ran one finger along the arch of the demon’s foot. It tickled wonderfully. Crowley wiggled his foot a bit, but did not pull away. He loved the feeling of the angel’s warm fingers stroking his skin.  


“Yes, well, it turns out God does not care for cheeky,” Crowley replied, with a wry smile.  


“I have to wonder why I haven’t already fallen myself,” said Aziraphale, a slightly worried expression on his face. “Surely, helping to thwart the Great Plan is a more serious transgression than being cheeky.”  


“You’d think,” remarked Crowley. “Maybe the rules have changed. Or maybe there aren’t any rules. Maybe there is no Great Plan. Who knows? I wouldn’t worry about it. Not much to be done about it anyway.”  


“I expect you’re right,” the angel replied.  


“Anyway, even though they don’t know it, you’re the best angel they ever had,” said Crowley. “You’re the only one who really cares. You cared about all those innocent people and animals that were killed in the flood. And you were appalled at the suffering of that poor bloke, what’s-his-name, Jesus.”  


“Well, I didn’t do anything to prevent the flood, or the crucifixion. I stood by and let those things happen, and many other terrible, awful things over the centuries,” said Aziraphale, clearly feeling remorseful.  


“What could you have done? Gotten yourself discorporated along with everybody else? You weren’t consulted on policy decisions. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” said Crowley. He reached out and took the angel’s hand, stroking it tenderly.  


“Anyway, we’ve both already done more than enough to deserve the ultimate punishment, in the eyes of Heaven and Hell,” said Crowley. “Therefore,” he paused, raising an eyebrow, “what we do from here on out can’t possibly make things any worse, so we might as well enjoy ourselves.” He was fervently hoping he could convince the angel to finally give up on trying to please Heaven, and to stop feeling guilty, and to stop trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.  


“I suppose that’s true,” Aziraphale replied. He removed Crowley’s other sock and began gently massaging the demon’s feet, squeezing the bony toes and pressing his thumbs into Crowley’s heels.  


Crowley sighed. “That feels great,” he said, smiling, curling his fingers into the angel’s soft hair and stroking his neck gently. “Don’t stop.”  


Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s drink to the angel’s lips, offering him a sip, since his hands were otherwise occupied. “Mmmm, thanks,” cooed the angel as Crowley placed the glass back on the table. Crowley stuck a long finger into the glass, and then, looking directly into the angel’s eyes, drew the finger along the instep of one foot, leaving a wet smear that glistened in the firelight. Aziraphale locked eyes with Crowley, lifted the demon’s slender foot to his mouth and then slowly licked and sucked the trail of scotch off of it. _“Delicious!”_ he exclaimed, with a brilliant smile. Crowley grinned, smoldering inwardly with excitement.  


Easy, easy, slow down, be cool, he told himself. In spite of the rising heat he felt in his core, he didn’t want to rush this. He’d waited millennia to be touched like this by Aziraphale. It was hard to believe it was even real. He wanted to just grab the angel, lay him back on the sofa, slowly strip him and languish him with kisses all over, please him in every way imaginable, then do it again, and again, and then let the angel do the same to him. Then, perhaps a nice hot bath and a nap. Still, Crowley was wary of making Aziraphale uncomfortable by moving too fast. The angel seemed to need to talk, so probably best to oblige until he got whatever was bothering him out of his system. Crowley let his fingers continue to stroke the back of the angel’s neck, playing idly with the soft fuzz of hair there.  


“So Crowley…” Aziraphale began again, tentatively. “If you don’t mind my asking, how many times have you had, uh, _relations?”_  


“Relations?” Crowley asked. He knew what the angel meant, he just wanted to play with him, get him to say it more plainly. It was high time for Aziraphale to shed some of those long-held inhibitions of his, Crowley thought.  


“You know, ah, _physical_ relations.”  


“Are you asking about _sex,_ angel?”  


“Well, yes.”  


“Oh, I don’t know. Lots.”  


“How many is lots?” the angel asked.  


“What difference does it make?”  


“I don’t know, I just want to get a sense of… how experienced you are.”  


_“Very,”_ the demon replied, with a wink.  


_“How many times_ have you had physical relations?” the angel asked again, insistently.  


“I wouldn’t call it ‘physical relations.’”  


“Well, what would you call it, then?”  


“Shagging.”  


“Alright, then, how many times have you ‘shagged’ somebody?”  


“Do you really want to know?”  


“Yes.”  


“Ah, well, let’s say maybe twice a week, on average. Some years have been busier than others. So, maybe a hundred or so a year? Times 6,000 years, that’s about 600,000, give or take.”  


Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. “600,000!? Good _lord.”_ He looked stunned.  


“You know that tempting humans is in my job description, right?” said Crowley, laughing.  


“Well, yes, obviously. But I guess I never realized there were so many. Never did the math. And in the course of our ‘Arrangement,’ you never asked me to perform any of _those_ kinds of temptations on your behalf,” Aziraphale observed.  


“I didn’t think you’d want to,” the demon replied.  


“I wouldn’t have,” the angel answered. “It seems so… predatory.”  


“I’ll let you in on a little secret, angel. Temptation doesn’t work unless the person actually wants it, to some degree at least.”  


“I did not know that,” said Aziraphale. “So, you've performed 600,000 sexual temptations.”  


“Approximately.”  


“And how many, ah, sexual partners do you think you’ve had, all told?”  


“600,000-ish,” Crowley replied.  


“You never ‘shagged’ any of them more than once?”  


“No.”  


“Why not?”  


“It’s a job, angel.”  


“You didn’t enjoy it?”  


“I did, usually. But it’s still a job. When it’s done, it’s done, and I want some ‘me time’ when I’m off the clock.” He paused, draining his glass. Aziraphale’s fingers continued to massage the demon’s feet most effectively. Ah, it felt _so_ good, Crowley thought. Aziraphale’s hands were exquisitely soft, and also surprisingly strong.  


“And did you ‘shag’ women? Men?”  


“Oh, yes. All types. I’m an equal opportunity shagger,” the demon replied. “So how about you? How many times have you, uh, had ‘physical relations?’”  


“I’ve had a few, um, dalliances,” the angel replied.  


Now, this was interesting to Crowley. “How many is a few?” he persisted.  


“Several. A handful. Chiefly during the Victorian period. I had several ongoing, ah, relationships with various gentlemen, and I enjoyed the companionship, but ultimately I let them go. They required far too much effort on my part, and I didn’t really feel good about being intimate with humans anyway,” the angel said. “Their lives are so short, it seemed likely they’d be dead before we really got to know each other.”  


“Point taken,” said the demon. “So you shagged a few ‘gentlemen?’ Or they shagged you?”  


“Well, I wouldn’t call it ‘shagging’ exactly,” said Aziraphale, blushing slightly. “Not for the most part.”  


“What would you call it, then?”  


“Amorous affection, perhaps. Mostly.”  


“Ah, snogging, then. Shagged any women?” asked Crowley.  


“One or two,” Aziraphale replied.  


“Naughty angel,” Crowley chided, amused. “Weren’t you worried about what Heaven would think?”  


“Well, I was very discreet in those days, and Gabriel wasn’t popping in so often,” the angel replied. “And I didn’t let things get out of hand.”  


Crowley considered this information. Why was it important to Aziraphale to compare their sexual histories? Probably he was feeling anxious and seeking some kind of reassurance. Clearly, Crowley’s answer had not provided it. Best to proceed slowly, let the angel get comfortable. Crowley tried to think of something to say to help put the angel at ease.  


“For me, it was always just a job,” Crowley remarked. “It wasn’t about companionship. Or amorous affection.”  


“There was no love involved? No feelings?” asked Aziraphale.  


“No.” Crowley had never loved anyone but the angel. It had never even occurred to him to love anyone else. What would be the point? “You?”  


“Well, I love all of humanity, of course, in a general sort of way, and I was very fond of my suitors, but no, there was no romantic love as such, at least not on my part.” He’d only ever had those kinds of feelings for Crowley. “Did you ever… I mean, the various times that we ran into each other over the centuries, did you ever want to, uh, do your ‘job,’ so to speak, with _me?”_ the angel asked tentatively.  


“If it was with you, it wouldn’t have been a job,” Crowley replied. “But yeah, sure, I wanted us to, uh, have ‘physical relations.’ Of course. I _am_ a demon, after all.” And you are a stunningly gorgeous and irresistible celestial being, he wanted to add.  


“When?”  


“Ah, well, many times, angel. Like, uh, Rome, for one.”  


“Rome? When I suggested we go for oysters, you said you had a scheduling conflict.”  


“I did. I had a mandatory work function, an orgy that I had to attend. Didn’t think it would be your scene. But I would much rather have been with you.”  


Aziraphale smiled at that. “I guess we need to make up for lost time,” he said. One hand crept up Crowley’s leg, slowly stroking the length of his calf.  


“Mmmm, yes, I guess we do,” the demon replied. He offered Aziraphale another sip of scotch, and the angel took it. Crowley replaced the glass on the table and then leaned forward to plant a soft kiss at the base of the angel’s neck. “So, maybe we need to renegotiate our ‘Arrangement,'” he mumbled into Aziraphale’s incredibly smooth, silky skin. The angel’s spicy-sweet scent was deliciously intoxicating.  


“What do you suggest?” asked Aziraphale.  


“Ah, well, since we are both unemployed now, we can leave off all that business about covering each other’s assignments, for starters,” said Crowley. “No jobs, no assignments. Here’s to unemployment!” He raised his glass.  


“To unemployment!” replied the angel. Their glasses clinked together. They drank.  


“And we can shift our efforts towards more meaningful pursuits. Like making each other incredibly happy,” suggested the demon, with a gleam in his eye.  


“That sounds very nice,” the angel replied. “But...”  


“But what?”  


“I need to, ah, proceed slowly. This is all so new. I need to get used to it, and learn how to go. I need you to be patient with me, Crowley. I know you like to go fast.”  


“I can be patient, I can go slow,” Crowley said, trying to convince himself that he could. He’d waited 6,000 years for this much, surely he could wait a little longer for the rest. If he _had_ to.  


“And also, I want to enjoy it. Not rush. I want to savor every bit of it, slowly,” the angel added.  


“Like one of your cakes?” Crowley laughed. “Sure, no problem. No rushing. Understood.”  


“Thank you,” said Aziraphale, giving Crowley’s calf a squeeze.  


“How about we just let you set the pace, how’s that? You lead, I’ll follow. Unless and until you say otherwise.”  


“That should work,” said the angel. “I might need you to teach me a few things, though. I’ve read a lot of books on the subject, of course. All the classics. I own a first edition Kama Sutra, in fact. But books are no substitute for, ah, direct experience.”  


“I can tutor you, upon request, if you promise to be diligent in your studies and listen carefully to your instructor,” Crowley purred, nuzzling at the angel’s neck, nibbling gently.  


“I promise,” whispered Aziraphale softly and earnestly into Crowley’s ear, his warm breath sending a delightful thrill throughout the demon’s body.  


Crowley was totally, hopelessly smitten. The angel’s lips sought Crowley’s in a passionate kiss, deeper and longer than their first one, and with greater urgency. Aziraphale slipped his soft tongue into the demon’s mouth, questing, exploring, setting Crowley on fire. This going slow business was going to be a hellacious challenge, Crowley realized, but he was determined to do whatever the angel required of him. He held back and let Aziraphale lead, moving in response to his motions, his demonic tongue answering the angel’s, caressing and probing slowly and delicately. Aziraphale tasted absolutely, amazingly, indescribably sublime. Crowley was overwhelmed with desire, with the angel’s lovely scent, with his soft skin and his tender lips. He could spend centuries like this, just kissing him, holding him, tasting him, drinking him in.  


The angel pulled back slightly, gazing into the demon’s golden eyes. He looked radiant. “My darling demon,” said Aziraphale affectionately. “I love you, A.J. Crowley, do you know that?”  


“I do now,” said the demon. He called me _darling,_ Crowley thought. _Darling_ demon. It had a nice ring to it. I could get used to this, Crowley thought. “And I love you as well, my most beautiful Aziraphale.”  


The angel beamed. “Want to see my bedroom?” he said, a playful expression on his face.  


“Didn’t know you had a bedroom,” the demon replied.  


“Ah, yes, in fact, I do. It’s upstairs. I don’t use it much, and it’s filled with books, but I’ll take care of that.” He patted Crowley’s legs. “Up, demon,” he ordered.  


Crowley sprang upright. “Yes, my cheeky angel,” he replied. “Lead the way.” He grabbed the bottle of scotch. Aziraphale drained his glass, took the demon’s hand and led him through the small kitchen, to the door to the stairway.  


Yes, everything would be different from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated!


End file.
